


Onyx

by dark_muse_iris



Series: Call Me Mistress [8]
Category: K-pop, VIXX, 방탄소년단 | Bangtan Boys | BTS
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - BDSM, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Angst, Assault, BDSM, Biting, Body Worship, Bondage, Cock & Ball Torture, Creampie, Death, Dom/sub, Dom/sub Play, Dominance, Domme!OC, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Face Slapping, Femdom, Genital Torture, Hand Jobs, Handcuffs, Near Death Experiences, Nipple Clamps, Nipple Play, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Orgasm Denial, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Overstimulation, POV Female Character, POV Second Person, Prostitution, Roleplay, Sadism, Sex, Sex Work, Slapping, Smut, Spit Kink, Submission, Torture, Vaginal Sex, Violence, sub!yoongi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-09-26 10:19:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 18,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17139965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dark_muse_iris/pseuds/dark_muse_iris
Summary: After six months of waiting, the Mistress reunites with the man who changed everything.Excerpt:“You’re smart. You know I’m too trusting of certain people. If I ever tell you not to look into someone again, I know you’ll go behind my back and do it anyway, as you should,” you clarified. “Everyone who has direct access must be investigated. And you’ve done that since we last saw Onyx. You’ve done an outstanding job and I don’t regret a cent. This,” you tilted your head toward your window, “is me addressing unfinished business and righting the ship for my past fuck-ups. I doubt we’ll see him again after he and I have our little chat.”“I’ve never seen you like this before,” Leo remarked. “He’s rattled you.”“He’s going to pay for lying to me.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Pairing: Yoongi x OC, with guest appearance by Leo (VIXX)
> 
> Genre: Angst, smut
> 
> POV: 2nd Person (from the Mistress' perspective)
> 
> Warning: Sub!Yoongi, Domme!OC, BDSM, femdom, sexual themes, sex work, roleplay, light torture, slapping, nipple play, nipple clamps, bondage (handcuffs), spitting, oral sex, handjob, biting, orgasm denial/edging, overstimulation, profanity, and sadism being used as a weapon for revenge because that really needs to be its own warning
> 
> A/N: This story doesn’t fare well as a oneshot, so I highly recommend not reading this unless you’ve read the other stories first, particularly Ramen, Pinwheel, and Bamboo, where Onyx is mentioned.

The aroma of savory spinach and ricotta cheese was the distraction you had been craving after a hard week. Sundays were for you and this was how you wanted to spend it—in the kitchen, jotting down your grocery list in your pajamas. The fresh mug of coffee hadn’t been prepared until eleven a.m., but after the night you previously had with a client, you allowed yourself the luxury of sleeping in. Time was relative in your line of work anyway.

_There_ _’s that new series that just started, the one with what’s-her-face_ , you mused. _I could watch that today._

The random thought made you write “what” instead of “water filters” by accident. The tip of your pen struck a straight line against the notepad, expelling the mistake and allowing you the chance to correct it. The minor irritations only added to the disappointing truth: you had to get groceries. The resentment over a lack of grocery delivery service crossed your mind for the hundredth time. All you wanted to do was stay home with your quiche, watch television, and remain wrapped in your blankets. You wanted to take the day to restore yourself, try out your new snail mask, and catch up on personal errands which could be completed without interacting directly with other humans.

A harsh knock sounded on your front door, causing you to jump out of your skin. Your heart rate picked up immediately, as it was your day off and you weren’t expecting anyone.

_Maybe they_ _’ll go away. I fucking hate solicitors._

The knock changed in tone, switching to that of a closed fist banging over and over.

_Fuck, is it the cops?_

You didn’t consider yourself to be an anxious person, but the electricity of the fight-or-flight sensation crawling over your skin set you on edge. With an angry whip of your bathrobe, you tried to cover yourself up. You tied the belt of the robe too tight, but admittedly, you were no longer breathing properly anyway. Whoever was at the door was going to get the chewing out of their life.

“Cat, let me in!”

_Leo._

The lock snapped with a metallic clink and you opened the door. Leo nodded quickly, unable to look you in the eye, and pushed his way past you to enter your living room. He was murmuring something to himself and you wondered if that was his half-assed attempt at a greeting or an apology. The way he ran his fingers through his long bangs informed you he was extremely nervous, bordering on distress.

“What the fuck? You don’t wait until you’re invited in like you have some manners?” you scolded, crossing your arms.

“I-needed-to-come-in,” he rambled, shaking his head and closing his eyes. You had never seen him act that way before.

“Why are you here? I have a phone.” You softened your tone, but found the task was difficult to pull off, given how rattled you were by him—anyone—showing up unannounced on your day off when you were in loungewear. 

Leo pressed his lips into a thin line as he planned his next words carefully.

“Onyx contacted me. It wasn't safe to use the phone.”

The sound of his name fell to the pit of your stomach with a heavy, regretful thud.

"What do you mean? Did he show up at your office? What's going on?" If the unstable rattling in your voice was any indication of your apprehension, it was clear you weren’t enthusiastic about receiving the answer.

“I had a ping on my computer and a pop-up message from him.”

“You mean like the Matrix?”

“Ah—” Leo shot you a ridiculous expression. “Yeah? You do know we’re almost 20 years past that technology, but whatever.” He waved his hand to dismiss your relic of a movie reference. “He wants to meet with you."

“If he's that smart, he could have gotten this address,” you pointed out.

“He probably knows it now,” he admitted, a look of concern painted over his features. “My firewall isn't an easy one to exploit. For all I know, he has everything on the goddamned server. He's probably counting on me to know that, which is why I'm here delivering his message like a fucking errand boy. What a prick.”

Leo rubbed his forehead as he struggled to piece together all the possible scenarios that could have befallen his online fortress. “I guess he should consider his message delivered,” he mumbled in irritation. “So, are you going? I’ve got the car downstairs.”

Your insides ignited in anger. Shrugging your shoulders with a sass you only used on family and close friends, you responded, "I don't want to see him. Why should I? I'm making a quiche. It’s my day off. He, of all people, knows how rare that is."

It felt juvenile to protest to that degree, like a child stomping her foot because she didn’t want to go to school, church, or wherever her family was requiring her to go. Still, it was a card to play, and you hoped Leo would take the hint that you didn’t want to see Onyx and leave as quickly as he entered.

He frowned at your reluctance, eyes boring into the floor while he attempted to conjure up a rebuttal. As he stood in your living room, stewing over your lack of cooperation, your cell phone rang, sending a lighthearted chime into the increasingly thick air.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you huffed, scratching at your scalp like there was something bothersome perforating your skull.

You picked up your phone from the kitchen countertop and scoffed at the contents illuminating the screen: an address to a residence you had never visited nor recognized. Showing your phone to Leo only confirmed his suspicion of the message’s origin.

“Well, now I know he’s in the database. Son of a bitch.” Your investigator’s fingers pinched the bridge of his nose and he took an uninvited seat on your sofa.

_This is too far, even for him,_ you thought.

“This is bullshit and I don’t really care what this text says,” you informed the man. “Onyx thinks he can resurface after six months and just snap his fingers? He expects me to show up when I’m whistled like I used to. I’m delet—”

“You do realize you _have_ to go now, right?” Leo interrupted. “I don’t want to be the asshole who ruins your precious quiche, but he could leak all of your data. He could sell it, delete it—whatever he wants.

“I don’t appreciate your personal affairs or whatever happened between you two to fuck with my business,” he continued. “Onyx was before my time and I have clients other than you, no offense. The only reason I haven’t sent him my own little cyber present is because I’m hoping I won’t have to. You have something he wants.”

His eyes traced along the length of your bathrobe, but he didn’t elaborate further. He didn’t have to. You knew exactly what the “something” was, what he felt Onyx wanted.

It was uncharacteristic of Leo to complain to this degree, where he sounded like he was on the verge of quitting. The realization he would be entirely within his rights to walk away from your employment compelled you to soften your tone.

“Did he threaten you?”

He shook his head. “No. For someone who kicked down my front door, so to speak, he was polite about it.” Leo took out his phone and swiped his fingers across its surface until he retrieved a screenshot and showed it to you. “After the pop-up, this was on my phone.”

> _Good afternoon Leo,_
> 
> _I know you know who this is because you_ _’ve been tailing me since the Balkans. You were good enough to find my latest passport and trace my travel in your little program. Very clever._
> 
> _As you now know, I’m in town and have been for a few weeks. I would like to see Catherine. She won’t want to see me, I’m sure, but I’m hoping you will persuade her. She trusts you._
> 
> _This isn_ _’t how I normally do things and I apologize for employing these methods to make contact, but it’s important that you deliver this message. I mean her no harm. She knows that, no matter what she may say._
> 
> _Tell her I made good on my promise._

“What promise is he talking about?” he asked.

Your throat ran dry as the words materialized in your consciousness: _I promise every last one of them will pay dearly for this._

“I’d rather not talk about it,” you deflected.

A pungent smell drifted into your nostrils, causing you to panic.

“No, no, no…,” you whined, scurrying back to the kitchen to turn the stove off. When you opened the door, your concern took its final form, that of a burned quiche. Your stomach twisted in resentment as the thick aroma coated your senses.

Pulling the dish out of the oven and plopping it on the stovetop, you grumbled. “Well, he ruined my quiche. That was imported ricotta—for nothing.” You loosened the belt of your bathrobe and stomped past your investigator to head down the hall to your bathroom. “My plans are pretty much blown. I’ll get ready and prepared to go. But text him back and tell him I’m mad as hell and I’m not spending the night, no matter how much he pays.”

“Why can’t you text him?”

You halted your feet. “Because if I do, I’ll spend the next twenty minutes bitching about the loss of my quiche.”

* * *

 

No matter how hard you scrubbed the loofah against your arms, you couldn’t break your mind free from the memory of him.

You met Onyx the way prostitutes meet their clients in the movies—in a luxurious hotel bar. You had been vacationing alone and were fully intent on enjoying the beauty of Monaco by yourself. It hadn’t been your plan to meet a stranger that night, but it happened the way one might expect, with you sipping a cocktail in solitude and him being the first to approach.

You thought he would ask if you wanted a little company, as other men would in his situation. You expected him to offer some cheap line well past its prime—but he didn’t. Rather, he confessed he had a meeting to go to the next morning and he wasn’t looking forward to it, and all he wanted was to spend his last few hours of freedom sitting next to someone who wouldn’t bother him. According to the man, you appeared to be the type not to be fucked with and he hoped your presence would repel lonely suitors seeking _his_ attention.

Admittedly, you had taken that as a compliment, so you allowed him to sit in the adjacent seat without protest.

The next hour crawled by as you drank beside each other, not exchanging a word. It was calming in a strange way, how the hotel bar increased in noise with the addition of more and more guests, yet no one approached either of you, save for the bartender. An invisible bubble encircled you both and deterred all others. It was a luxury you seldom experienced.

As the evening continued, however, you felt increasingly unsettled. Perhaps it was your lowered inhibitions, but you found it odd for a man to ask to sit next to someone on purpose and not talk to them. Why would he come down to the hotel bar when he could drink scotch in his room alone? You couldn’t shake the question, so you decided it was time to leave.

“I hope I’ve been an agreeable buffer this evening,” you closed as you slid from your bar stool, preparing to return to your room to relax.

Your plan to depart made him flinch and clear his throat. The barstool squeaked as he stood, interrupting your exit.

“Excuse me, miss,” he said, his voice uncertain. “Would you mind staying here a little longer? I haven’t relaxed in months and it’s been really nice sitting here in your presence. I hope I’m not being too forward.”

“I think you’re the least forward person I’ve ever encountered in a bar,” you replied. “Why don’t you hang out in the hotel room you paid for?”

He appeared uneasy by the question, rubbing the back of his neck. “Have any demons from your past?”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

“Mine tend to show up when I travel. It’s easier to not be alone.”

The way his eyes softened as he talked about the past reminded you of your brother.

“Former military?” you guessed.

He chuckled, smiling widely enough to show his gum line. It was jovial, how quickly his expression brightened.

“Is it that obvious? I thought my hair was long enough now.”

“You’re facing all the exits and your posture’s a little too clean.”

“Were you also in the military?” he asked, taking a sip from his scotch.

“My brother was,” you replied. “He had his demons too.”

The man nodded as if he had met the same one. “I don’t want to pressure you into staying here if you want to leave, miss. It was probably rude of me to try, when you were kind enough to let me sit here to begin with. Please accept my apologies.”

“I understand a soldier’s yearning to not be alone. It’s alright,” you eased. “I was just going to watch TV upstairs anyway. I suppose I could stay a little longer.”

His voice perked up at your offer. “I’ll pay for your drinks, dessert—whatever you want.”

_No._

“I don’t accept gifts from strangers,” you clarified, “but I’ll stay for a good conversation.” You returned to your seat and watched as he returned to his. You lifted your glass to signal to the bartender that you were interested in another.

The man chewed on his lower lip, peering into the bottom of his glass, hoping the right words would come out. “I don’t know how good the conversation will be. I’m rather boring, really.”

His answer brought a smile to your lips. “So am I. What do you do for a living?”

“Contract negotiations. And you?” he inquired, taking another sip of his scotch.

“Sex work.”

The man coughed while trying to swallow his drink, summoning a choked sound that made you laugh. It was fair to say that was the last answer he anticipated to hear from you.

As you thought back to that night, the corners of your lips curled in remembrance. Your choice to stay at that hotel bar had been one of the best you ever made, once he came out of his shell more and you started talking with one another. You recalled his reserved charm, his calm demeanor, his self-control, all the character traits that you had been unable to find in your past romantic partners. Above all, he listened when you spoke.

He was merely a stranger in Monaco that night and yet, he had given you one of the most captivating evenings of conversation you had ever experienced. You ordered more drinks and discussed social issues, favorite books, and aspirations for the future. You both preferred the quiet and small gestures as opposed to grandiose displays. You had a lot in common—and old habits die hard—which is why it was no surprise you ended up in the elevator together, heading to your room for a nightcap.

And it should have ended there, but it didn’t. The next morning, he left a note on your end table asking to see you one last time before leaving the hotel. You couldn’t bring yourself to refuse him after the chemistry you had was as good as the conversation. Looking back, you thought perhaps _that_ should have been the last time.

But it wasn’t.

His job required him to frequently travel, including and especially within your country. After exchanging numbers, he would ask for you to visit whenever he was in town. Often, he would resurface with little notice, each time in a different location. He’d text you an address, and you would drop everything for him.

Sometimes he just wanted to talk. Sometimes he wanted sex. Sometimes you did. But every time he showed up, he offered to pay for your time—at triple your standard rate—“out of respect for your profession,” he’d say, and as an apology for the lack of notice.

You never met on a constant basis. It was common to go weeks without seeing each other. Every time you had an encounter with him, he would look slightly different, either in clothing or hairstyle. You assumed he was a noncommittal person, which made sense given his job. Even the homes he rented for the week were different as well, each varying in decor and price range.

Despite those inconsistencies, his personality never wavered. His words remained unchanged, and it was that constant which kept your interest. Every other deviation in appearance or location was part of the fantasy, or so you believed. You were never alarmed by the lack of mail or the fact the furnishings always smelled new, for he was the same, a man who wanted to relax and enjoy the simpler things in life.

That shared dream of a simple life, the compatibility, the chemistry—all clouded your judgment. Neither of your lives were conducive to settling down, but that didn’t matter. You hadn’t met anyone as promising in what felt like forever, so you did the best you could do and took him on formally as a client, while maintaining a fleeting sort of courtship.

And that arrangement was one you maintained for years. That is, until he broke your trust.

* * *

 

Leo’s car slowed as it approached the address Onyx had directed you to go. A small, pale yellow cottage with a red front door sat atop freshly cut sod. The neighborhood was a slice of suburban paradise. It made you nauseous.

“It’s just a single-family home,” Leo commented. “Odd choice for him.”

_It was just a second-story condo with a balcony last time_ , you thought.

“Can you park the car at the corner and wait for me to come out?” You hated asking for favors, but the idea of being stranded in the area with no quick exit set you on edge.

“How long will you be?”

“A few hours at the most. We have some unfinished business to discuss.”

Leo pointed to the duffel bag in the backseat. “Is that why you brought your…are you calling that a bag of tricks, or?”

You crossed your arms. “Look, if I have cuffs and things to beat him with, I’ll feel safer, okay? Don’t judge me.”

“No judgment,” he replied with a dismissive wave of his hand. “It’s just that I—”

He paused, pressing his lips into a thin line.

You raised an eyebrow. “You what?”

“I should have investigated him, Catherine. I know you told me not to, that it wasn’t necessary, but I feel responsible.”

“Hey,” you countered, placing your hand on his as it rested on the steering wheel. “Remember what I told you when I hired you?”

“You gave me a list of things—a long list,” he replied with sarcasm.

“I told you that the client who put me in the hospital gave me a bad gut feeling and that I ignored it. And I told you he was my fault.”

“Right,” he nodded. “You were pretty doped up, but you were clear about that.”

“And I told you _not_ to look into Onyx,” you stressed, pressing the tip of your finger against your kneecap. “I told you not to look into Pinwheel either. Why? Because I trusted both of them completely. _Completely_. They knew my name, my past, my address—everything. I didn’t want you to disrupt their lives when they had been with me for so long. I thought it would be bad service.”

The last words tasted bitter on your tongue.

“My point is,” you continued, “Onyx is my fault, not yours. You tried to do the right thing and I didn’t let you do that.”

“I should have gone behind your back,” he said. “I was trying to respect your wishes.”

“You’re smart. You know I’m too trusting of certain people. If I ever tell you not to look into someone again, I know you’ll go behind my back and do it anyway, as you should,” you clarified. “Everyone who has direct access must be investigated. And you’ve done that since we last saw Onyx. You’ve done an outstanding job and I don’t regret a cent. This,” you tilted your head toward your window, “is me addressing unfinished business and righting the ship for my past fuck-ups. I doubt we’ll see him again after he and I have our little chat.”

“I’ve never seen you like this before,” Leo remarked. “He’s rattled you.”

“He’s going to pay for lying to me.”

The man looked down and fumbled with his tie. “Be careful, okay. Keep your phone on.”

“I will.” You tried to soften your tone to reassure him, but it was a difficult task to do, given how unsettled you felt knowing who you were there to see.

You retrieved your bag from the backseat and watched as Leo drove the car to the corner and parked it, per your instructions.

Knocking on the door took every ounce of courage you could muster. You suspected the only reason you were able to do it was because you were wearing your favorite black dress: a modest, unsuspecting number that hugged your waist but didn’t feel like something you poured yourself into. Moreover, you had faced worse and survived. Onyx, unlike some of your past clients, had never tried to harm you.

_But he might._

The thought flashed through your consciousness, making your mouth run dry. But before you had a chance to turn around and walk away, the door opened.

“Hi, Cat.”

His greeting was exactly what you expected: relaxed, _practiced_. He wore a slim-fitting charcoal suit with a white shirt, nothing fancy. He looked healthy, a little more filled out than when you last saw him. His hair wasn’t black anymore as you remembered, but rather lightened to an ashen gray shade. It suited him, as strange as the color choice was to you. The only accessories he had was a simple black belt and the personal memento he always wore around his neck: a small, antique silver medallion with an onyx stone set in its center.

Your eyes fixated on the necklace as your stomach twisted in knots. The necklace wasn’t merely a piece of jewelry, but a gift—from you.

He noticed your attention pulling toward the item and cleared his throat gently, blinking his worn eyes and stepping aside to allow you to enter the house.

“Furniture looks new,” you commented, rubbing your tongue over your teeth, sucking it until it clicked.

“It’s always new,” he admitted, closing the door behind you. “Thank you for coming to see me.”

It was hard to look at him and process your emotions at the same time. “I came because you scared the shit out of my investigator this morning, so thanks for that. I don’t appreciate my employees feeling threatened—especially the one who protects me.”

He shook his head. “I wasn’t trying to intimidate him. I didn’t think you’d react well if I showed up at your house unannounced. Plus, you had changed all your numbers since I last saw you.”

“I had to. You told me to, remember?” you reminded him, your tone growing stern. “I changed my numbers, moved to a new place, and had to pay Leo to re-vamp my process to screen my clients and contacts again. All because of you. Thousands of dollars.”

“I’m sorr—”

“Why am I here?” you interrupted, crossing your arms.

He released a pent-up sigh. “I wanted to see you.”

“Maybe I don’t want to see you, Yoongi,” you retorted. “Is that even your name?”

The center of his brow creased in frustration. “Yes, it is. I never lied to you about that.”

Cocking your head, you fired back. “You just lied about your job and who you were, basically everything that matters. Did you even want to be with me, or was I just a convenience?”

“Wow, you think I would lie about that too?” Yoongi accused, his voice rising. “I would never hurt you or use you like that. You know that. Everything we ever did together was something you actively participated in. _Very actively_ , I should say.”

“You’re going to put blame on me when your lies of omission brought us here? You put me through hell and then you vanished for six months. And now you’re back saying you ‘kept your promise’ to me. Am I here because you’re hoping for a transaction-fuck, like some sort of thank you?”

Yoongi opened his mouth to give his rebuttal, but you stopped him with a raised hand angrily aimed in his direction.

“No. Don’t deny it. I see the way you’re looking at me,” you accused, waving your hand over the waist of your black dress like you were offering a buffet to him. “This is my job, remember? At least do me the professional courtesy of acknowledging I’m right when I’m right. You just want me to tend to your dick so you can be on your merry way.”

Yoongi winced at your words, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I figured you’d still be upset—”

“You figured correctly.”

“—so take it out on me, then,” he offered gruffly. “I owe you that much and I deserve it.”

You scoffed, “You’d love that, wouldn’t you? You know I could kill you right now for what you’ve put me through.”

“You know I deserve that too, Cat.”

Stunned by his admission, you were unable to counter. Yoongi saw your hesitation, so he continued to plead his case.

“Please, I’m trying to atone. We didn’t leave things— _I_ didn’t leave things—in the right way. You deserved better than what I gave you.”

“At least you’re aware.”

“Still doesn’t change the fact that I’ve missed you,” he added. “Are you telling me six months was enough to erase everything? That you never want to see me again?”

You couldn’t meet his gaze after he asked that question.

“Don’t ask me that. You have no idea how hurtful that betrayal was for me,” you murmured. “How can you stand there and act like nothing happened? I can’t just come here when you call and tickle your balls like everything’s great. That’s unfair. I’m not some streetwalker you just picked up. There’s history between us.”

“You know I don’t think of you that way.” His voice was sincere, but you didn’t want to believe it. “What can I do to make this right for you?”

_Let me kick your ass until I feel better_ , you admitted to yourself. It was immature and you knew that, but you had spent the last six months planning all the things you wanted to do and say to him. He was offering a blank check to seek your favor again and the proposal was too enticing to your yearning for revenge—so you took it.

You opened your bag and pulled out your phone to call Leo.

“Is everything alright?” he asked upon answering. His voice sounded more apprehensive than you expected.

“I’m fine,” you responded, easing the tension in your voice. “Onyx and I are going to discuss some things a bit more. It’ll be a while, but there’s no cause for alarm.”

Leo paused. “Okay, I’ll check back in a few hours if I don’t hear from you.”

“Thank you.”

You ended the call and tucked the phone back into your bag. Picking the bag up, you walked further into the house toward the dining room. It was modest, with a breakfast table and two chairs. The dining chairs looked antique: wooden, aged by several decades, with wicker backing. In the corner of the room was a large red upholstered armchair. Whoever placed the furniture intended to create a sort of reading nook, but there were no bookshelves or magazines to be found.

Pulling one of the wicker chairs away from the table, you skidded its wooden feet across the floor, making it screech until it was in the desired position—across from the upholstered chair.

“Take a seat,” you instructed, motioning him to sit where you wanted. You set the duffel bag next to the armchair and turned to face him.

As he approached you, stretching his neck with a long tilt of his head, you considered how wrong you had been about him. He wasn’t a particularly imposing figure, as he was slim in stature, yet there was something about his eyes. You could no longer read him as you used to, back when you thought he was merely an international business man. Now, all you could see was what he was capable of: deception, dishonesty, and danger.

He shrugged off his gray jacket, draping it gingerly over the edge of the table. His hands reached behind his back to his waist belt to pull out a black, carbon-fiber handgun.

Your body stiffened in alarm.

“Easy,” he soothed. “I’m a bit more cautious these days.”

You crossed your arms and huffed. “Is having that around necessary? You knew I was coming.”

The gun rested on the table, the barrel pointing toward the front door.

“Considering what happened last time, I thought you’d be relieved to see it. You can take it if that would make you feel better.” He hovered his hand over the gun to prepare to pick it up again.

“Just leave it on the table,” you told him. “Should I pat you down for other weapons?”

“No,” he answered, bending down to pull a small knife from under his pant leg. “This is standard for me for the moment. I—”

“I’m not here to talk about that.”

He nodded his head and took a seat in the chair opposite you. “Fair enough.”

Yoongi leaned back until his shoulder blades pressed against the wicker backing. The old chair creaked as he moved, and that sound was the only one you could hear among the tones of your heartbeat pounding in your ears. His eyes remained fixed on your face, motionless.

You wondered what he was thinking, whether the six months had changed him in some way. It was fair to say the time had altered you considerably. You were far less trusting than you had been. The parts of you which you considered to be warm and affectionate became shared with fewer and fewer people. There were so few left who really understood you, as you retreated inside of your job and your clientele.

“You look well,” he said, his face softening. You almost saw him smile. You could tell he wanted to say more, but was holding his cards close to his chest. He likely didn’t want to upset you to the point of you walking out the door, so he swallowed the additional words he wanted to say, whatever they were.

It was time to undress, and as your fingers reached back to find the zipper, you sensed the trembling in your hands.

_Don_ _’t stop, you’ve waited months for this. You’re going to do this exactly as you planned._

You heaved a breath from your lungs as you unzipped your dress and turned away from him. Muscle memory carried out the task as you grappled with your feelings and the uncertainty over your choice of being there in the first place. Shimmying your shoulders with an air of practiced seduction, you willed the dress to pool in the floor by your feet. You carefully stepped your pumps to the side and pivoted slowly with your hand anchored to your waist.

Yoongi refrained from making a sound as he drank in your selection: a sheer black bra with scalloped-edge trim, satin straps, and baby pink embroidered finishes. The miniature embellishment at the center of it was made of rose gold. It was as effeminate as it was deadly, with sheer panties and matching suspenders to accompany it. The fasteners of your garters were black satin, secured to a pair of sheer thigh-high stockings with stitched center seams.

You allowed his eyes to take their fill, watching as he licked his lips and swallowed. He leaned forward and rested his elbows against his thighs, interlacing his fingers in contemplation as he studied the display you laid out for him. After a few moments of silent spectating, you sauntered forward, step-by-step, until he leaned back in his seat.

Tracing your fingertips over his jawline, you raised his head until his eyes focused on yours. You squeezed his chin gently as your hand stroked the underside of it. It was a touch he knew well and very likely missed, by the way his expression softened to the point of longing.

As soon as he relaxed, you raised your hand and delivered a sharp slap across his face—brandishing enough force to throw his focus toward the window adjacent to his chair. He clenched his jaw immediately, his neck stiffening as it pumped adrenaline throughout his body. Blowing a controlled breath through his teeth, he rested a moment and returned his face to that of an expressionless one and faced the woman who dished the blow.

He heard you, or at least felt your sentiments in his searing skin.

“Now that I’ve communicated how I feel about being here, we can start the session,” you stated, a touch of disinterest in your voice.

Yoongi nodded slowly, looking at the floor. He opened his mouth to stretch his jaw and try to recover a bit more, but he accepted the slap with no rebuttal.

Turning to take your place in the red upholstered chair, you felt a triumphant burst of power. You were finally going to get to say everything you wanted to say, act out however you wanted, and he would take it. He would accept it as you were compelled to accept it six months ago.

Taking a seat in that chair felt like seizing your place at the throne. Gingerly, you crossed your right leg over your left, reclined a bit, resting your hands against the soft, plush arms of the furniture.

You felt ready to rule.

“Unbutton your shirt, starting with the cuffs.”

Your tongue delivered each syllable in a steady tone, summoning his fingers to act. Each cuff was quick to be undone, fully loosened by his hands. As they lifted to break the bonds of the first button atop his chest, he continued to stare, tracing over your features with a wandering eye, from the top of your head to the tip of your heeled toe. He loosened each of his buttons, one at a time, with slow twists of his veined wrists and fingers.

As the white panels of his shirt opened to reveal the smooth surface of his skin, you leaned to one side and rested your chin in your hand, feigning impatience. He didn’t break his line of sight as he felt you judging his lack of speed. And he didn’t say a word about it.

When he pulled the shirt away from his body and plopped it on the floor, you noticed it—a new scar cutting from his left shoulder to his pectoral muscle. It had fully healed, but had not yet begun to fade, the dark shade of magenta taunting you, knowing you wanted to inquire about it. Yoongi noticed your eyes wandering to the marking, but he sat straight in the chair with his shoulders back, offering no explanation as he awaited your next instruction.

"Take off your pants.”

He stood and unbuckled his belt at a leisurely pace, withdrawing it fully before dropping it on the ground where his shirt was. The button of his charcoal slacks was easy to remove, but he took his time with the zipper, forcing your eyes to focus on his fingers. As they pulled the lip of the zipper down to the center of his legs, your cheeks began to flare with heat.

He bent over to push the fabric down his legs. As he stepped away from the slacks, you gave an additional command.

“All of it.”

Someone with less patience may have felt the urge to roll their eyes at your last-minute tack-on, but Yoongi smirked like he was expecting it. The navy boxer briefs he wore clung to his waist and admittedly, you were a tad regretful you spoke so soon, flattering as they were. He tucked his thumbs into the waistband and pushed them down, inching them along his legs to join his other discarded garments.

Your eyes drifted toward the center of his legs to find his cock half-hard already. The act of seeing you undress after not laying eyes on you for months appeared to be affecting him. He stood wearing only his black socks, his left foot nudging his clothes away from his seat.

When his hand moved to cover his dick, you barked, “Don't touch it.” The command made him jump, then he chuckled under his breath at being startled over so little.

"Do you want to keep your socks on?" you asked, already aware of how he’d respond.

"Yes, please—"

"Take them off."

He pressed his lips together and blinked slowly, his face devoid of amusement. As tough as he may be in certain parts of your mind, you knew he didn’t like his feet being cold against a wooden floor. So, that’s exactly what you gave him.

Yoongi resumed his place in the wicker chair and began to remove his socks, tossing them one by one in the clothing heap. When he completed the task, the only item on his body was the onyx pendant. The rest of him was bare and visibly tense, anticipating your next move.

He rested his hands back on the tops of his thighs as he took a deep breath, focusing on you. Holding his attention, you sighed and traced your fingertips from the slope of your neck down to your clavicle. The sight of your action made his length continue to grow, swelling alongside your satisfaction.

Speaking softly, you continued. "You may not touch yourself without my permission. Do you understand?"

“Yes, my Mistress,” he answered, his voice low and reverent.

The flicker of unresolved resentment ignited within your chest as you saw your first opening. “Oh, I'm yours now?” you chirped in a lighthearted voice, before dropping your tone. “How do you figure that?"

Yoongi cleared his throat, rubbing his hands against his legs before responding. He already appeared to have regretted his words.

“You came back.”

“No,” you corrected sternly. “ _You_ came back. _I've_ been here.”

His brow creased at how you stressed your words, but he knew better than to argue with you.

“Put your fingers in your mouth,” you ordered, uncrossing your legs. His eyes burned into the center of your panties as you switch them over, crossing your left leg over your right.

The fleeting spectacle from you adjusting your legs disappointed him, but he maintained composure, popping the forefinger and middle finger of his right hand into his mouth, resting them against his tongue. He began to lather them with copious amounts of saliva.

“That's right, make them nice and wet for me,” you drawled, nodding your head in affirmation. “Now, rub your nipple like a good tease. Go on, impress me.”

His face, slack-jawed and motionless, communicated a lack of enthusiasm when he removed his hand from his mouth. Nevertheless, he did what you asked, pressing the wet fingertips against his nipple. The dark rose hue of his most sensitive flesh became hidden behind each pass of his touch, his fingers encircling the small bud with delicate brushes.

“Ooh, you look like you’re enjoying that, baby,” you cooed. “Why don’t you do the same with your other hand? Don’t be shy.”

He furrowed his eyebrows and stared at you accusingly, like it was wrong to toy with him that way. He slipped two fingers from his free hand past his lips and sucked on them, laving his tongue against them until they were as wet as the other hand. Then he touched his other nipple, coaxing it to hardness as his thighs shifted in the seat. The veins in his hands twitched with each motion, drawing your eye in like a lure. One particularly prominent one rippled down his forearm.

Your throat tightened at the sight of him stimulating himself. "More," you commanded in a low tone.

He leaned his head back and gazed at you behind narrowed lids as he dug harder into his flesh, pinching his pert nipples and pressing his lips together as though to silence himself. As you watched him carry out your bidding, the afternoon sun streamed through the glass of the adjacent window, illuminating his pale expanse of flesh. Any warmth he would glean from the sun’s rays would swell his abused buds faster.

Your tongue dragged over your teeth as you witnessed his girth stiffen under his own stimulation. The sight made you wonder how often he teased himself alone this way, and whether he had withheld how much he truly enjoyed touching the sensitive nerve endings. His legs spread slightly to accommodate the throbbing cock swelling between them. He looked good enough to eat, just as you always remembered when he submitted, naked and trembling.

A small groan sounded from behind Yoongi’s throat as he grew more uncomfortable with each passing moment. His nipples were fully erect, squeezed between his clamping fingers with enough intensity to cause a sharp sting. His dick stood to attention and he licked his lips as his eyes raked over your body. He looked at you like you were his property and he could have you whenever he wanted. It was a stare meant to unnerve you.

"What are you thinking?" you posed the question in an even tone, like a therapist trying to probe their client’s mind.

The corners of his lips curled. "I'm thinking I bought you that lingerie."

You shrugged your shoulders as if it was a mere coincidence. "You did, but you never got to see it. It’s from our last trip."

“Have you worn that for anyone else?”

_Ah, possession_. The question made your heart swell with pride. A little piece of him was sensitive, subject to jealousy. No man wants to believe that the lingerie he bought was enjoyed by someone else.

"Does it look like it's been collecting dust?" You answered his question without directly giving him a yes or no. Reclining against the plush of the comfy chair, you looked smug, lavished with satisfaction.

"It's beautiful on you." His words were sincere, despite his visible discomfort. He twisted his nipples for you, tucking his feet behind the legs of the wicker chair to spread his legs further apart. Each flex of his wrist delivered a sweet torment.

Cocking your head to the side, you slathered your voice in honey. "Do you think compliments are going to win you points with me?"

"No," he answered, "but I know what would."

He parted his fingers deftly, trapping his hardened buds between his fingertips, forefinger and middle finger on either side. Rubbing up and down in slow, torturous motions, he mimicked how he used to please your clit. As he carried on the charade, he bit his lip like he couldn’t help himself. You knew it was an act, and you wanted to smack the surety from his face for it as your body betrayed you, knocking with an insatiable need you hadn’t experienced in a long time.

The sides of your face were scorching with remembrance of how you used to know the man in the chair across from you. The slick arousal materializing in your panties mocked every hateful feeling you had. He witnessed you begin to falter, and the sight ushered a knowing smirk to stretch across his features.

"I bet you taste as good as I remember."

“I’d love to ride that smart mouth, but I don’t trust you anymore,” you countered.

You dove your hand inside the duffel bag and pulled out two sets of handcuffs. The first set was made from stainless steel, durable enough to keep one confined forever. It contained no coverings, no plush, nothing which would provide the wearer any comfort. The second set of cuffs were just as unforgiving, but had a longer chain.

He huffed as his eyes pierced the cold metal in your hands. His expression lacked approval.

“I don’t want to hear it,” you warned. “You know I have every right.”

At your words, he scooted forward in his seat and wrapped his arms behind his back, assuming the role of a pliant prisoner. As you approached him, you reminded yourself that he wanted to be punished. He meant to participate until you had your revenge, even if that included keeping him restrained.

The first set of cuffs encircled his wrists with no resistance or interference. His fists were loosely closed and immobile. You rewarded his cooperation with a brush of your hand along the top of his head. The touch encouraged him to crane his neck to look at you.

“Eyes forward,” you commanded with a sharp tone.

He chuckled under his breath and chose not to argue the matter further. “Yes, Mistress.”

Taking the second set of cuffs, you linked one end against his bound wrists and hooked the other end on a horizontal rung of wood attaching the legs of the chair together. You felt your chest soften after your charge was secured to the furniture; the only way he would be freed was if he broke the chair, and he still wouldn’t be able to break through the cuffs or pick the locks—as you suspected he knew how to do.

You returned to the front of his chair and found him searching your eyes for some inkling of what was next to befall him. You clicked your tongue as your fingertips threaded into his hair. When he felt your touch again, his eyelids dropped and his shoulders softened. He missed you.

That is, until you tightened your fingers and yanked on his ashen strands, pulling on his scalp. The hiss whistling through his clenched teeth was music to your ears. He squeezed his eyes shut as you drew him more eagerly, forcing his chin to lift higher in the air.

“Does it hurt, baby?” you asked, your voice as pleasant as a songbird. “When you opened that door, what did you think would happen, hm?” You tugged to usher his response.

He blinked his eyes open and half-grinned. “This is pretty close to what I thought would happen, actually.”

You hardened your palm and delivered a sharp blow across his cheek, the force of it powerful enough to change his expression and compel a groan to sound from the back of his throat.

As he turned away and tried to calm his breathing, you straddled your legs over his chair and took a seat in his lap. Yoongi shifted beneath you, but was unable to control his movements due to the handcuffs restraining him. He looked upset, but you couldn’t tell whether he was mad that you hit him again or mad that his cock was now throbbing against your panties.

You ground your hips, dragging your heat against his length. He jerked his head to shove the fringe from his eyes. Each moment that passed made him more uneasy and you couldn’t help but celebrate it with a wicked smile. He was unhappy, which is exactly how you had felt for months because of him.

Pressing your warm hands against his chest made him flinch; his body no longer fully trusted you. You resisted the urge to chuckle at how the tables had turned so quickly.

Humming sweetly, you walked your fingertips up his clavicle and along his neck until you reached his earlobe. You pressed your chest against his and felt him nudge his head against yours, like a lost puppy in need of its mother. The affectionate gesture didn’t surprise you, given he was defenseless and growing more desperate for release.

Still, a part of you wanted him to suffer.

“What if I leave you cuffed here like you left me in that safe house six months ago?” you whispered in his ear.

He groaned in irritation. “You know I didn’t want—”

You pressed your finger to his lips to silence his voice. The act enraged Yoongi, motivating him to shake his head to loosen the press of your fingertip before biting it. His eyes darkened menacingly as he sunk his teeth into your flesh.

The retaliation came quickly in the form of you twisting his ear like an old teacher disciplining an unruly hellion.

“Ow, dammit!” he barked, trying to lunge at your shoulder to bite again. You struck his face once more and watched him close his eyes in acceptance, his lips pressed in a tight seal. His length continued to twitch beneath you. You grabbed his face in your hands and shook it left and right until he opened his eyes and looked at you.

“So, you want me to smack you around until you feel absolved of your guilt, is that it?” you interrogated.

His eyes were brimming with tears, but he could offer no response. The part of your heart which compelled you to show restraint was completely shut off from the rest, free from the responsibility of influencing your behavior and granting him the forgiveness he was seeking.

“Do you think me treating you like this will save you? You’re selfish.” The words stung like needles as they left your tongue, but you didn’t care.

Standing upright, you swung your leg back to abandon his lap and return to your bag. Bending over to offer the man a glimpse of what he had been missing, you retrieved a pair of clover-style nipple clamps.

It was fair to say that those particular clamps were the least forgiving of all the sets you owned. The tips were made from rubber, but were tacky enough to stick and hold steadfast to the nipple. Instead of being tightened by metal sliders, these clamps used screws. Once they were in place, the willing victim would be unable to escape the pain of their grips, no matter how hard you tugged on them.

When you approached Yoongi again, his face was resolved to accept the punishment you were about to administer. Straddling his legs again, you pressed your hand against his bare chest to push him against the back of the chair.

You opened the first clamp by unscrewing the fastener. Then, tracing your thumb idly over his sensitive bud, you coaxed his nipple to harden. You heated the clamp’s rubber tips with gentle huffs of hot air from your mouth. Yoongi’s pupils dilated like a trapped animal as he watched you warm them up. Squeezing the prongs open, you pressed the tips against his skin and tightened the device over his tender flesh.

As the clamp trapped the cerise bud, Yoongi exhaled a controlled breath, blinking slowly. He tried to maintain a disinterested expression, but the way he brushed his tongue across his bottom lip told you everything you needed to know. As much as he didn’t want to be restrained, he was enjoying having your attention.

You clamped the other clasp around his remaining nipple, tightening the prongs on both sides of his chest by rotating the small screws back into place. Yoongi’s eyes began to water again, but he took the adjustment well, maintaining steady breaths by inhaling through his nose and exhaling through his mouth.

“I should have known there was something different about you, the way you like pain,” you murmured, dragging your fingernail down the center of his chest.

“Is that right?” He stiffened as your touch coasted to the chain linking the nipple clamps together. When you hooked your index finger and pulled on it, he winced through his teeth.

“I don’t use these clamps on just anyone. I know how painful they are,” you commented, pulling on the chain again. “But you take it like _it’s your job_. You’re a real tough guy.”

He chuckled at your syrupy sweet sarcasm. “I can handle a lot,” he said. “I handle you just fine.”

Yoongi lifted his chin with an air of confidence until you pulled on the chain, drawing it further and further from his body until a tear fell from his eyes. The skin of his nipples stretched under the strain of your torment, but the clamps held on as they were designed to do.

“We’ll see,” you replied, smirking. You placed your palm flat against his chest and caressed his skin. He narrowed his eyes, looking into yours with an air of suspicion. He knew better than to trust your soft touches, given you were the reason behind his physical discomfort. It was your aim to keep him teetering between pleasure and pain for as long as possible. In your view, it was more than fair retribution for what you had endured because of him.

He rested the back of his head against the wicker chair and closed his eyes, trying to enjoy the gentle, featherlight offerings your fingers were giving him. His nipples were swollen and red, trapped in the clamps, but his countenance was tranquil—almost thankful.

“You’re gonna play with your food before you eat it,” he alleged. “Is that your plan for me?”

“Yes,” you answered softly. “I know how much you miss me rubbing your chest like this.”

“I’ve missed a lot of things about you.”

His eyes stared at yours longingly and you saw the blush fill his cheeks. He was hazy, floating in that realm of pain and pleasure which persuaded him to admit things he wouldn’t normally share. It wasn’t like him to be so honest during a session, but his words cut through your heart and made you feel guilty.

Were you planning on tormenting him the entire evening? A part of you wanted to make him suffer, but another part of you wanted him to remember what he left behind, and those two halves were unable to reconcile or agree on how to progress. It was a rare instance where you didn’t know how best to proceed, and it was a frustration you didn’t enjoy experiencing.

The only thing you were sure of was this: you wanted him to remember how good you used to make him feel.

Your fingertips grazed the underside of his length and his eyes widened in disbelief. The handcuffs rattled behind him and his throat bobbed in a solemn swallow. His brow was lacquered with sweat from sustaining the nipple clamps, but he tried to relax his face as much as possible as to downplay how eager he was to be touched.

When you wrapped your palm around his dick, it jumped in your hand. He tucked his bottom lip between his teeth as you made the first long stroke. He was dry in your hand, the skin sticking, unable to glide as he would have preferred.

“You must really miss me,” you began, “if you mean to take chafing like it’s some kind of reward.”

“I’ll take anything you give me,” he admitted, shifting his hips forward in the hopes you would touch him again.

_I would have given you everything_ , you thought, regretting the passing hope as quickly as it entered.

“You’re not going to ask for more?” you quipped.

“I’ve taken more than my share.”

_At least we agree on that._

You rewarded his statement by scooting back on his legs and leaning forward, opening your mouth to release a glob of spit. The clear film hit the edge of his shaft and slid down toward the base.

Yoongi’s chest rose and fell in rapid pants. He was brimming with excitement, feeling a renewed sense of hope. “P-please,” he stammered.

“Please, what?” you whispered, spreading your spit over his dick with slow strokes.

“May I?”

Pulling your hand away from him, you nodded. “Go on.”

Yoongi tilted his head downward and sucked his cheeks in, gathering a collection of spit in his mouth. When he opened his lips, he pointed his tongue toward his groin and released the small pool. His cock jumped as the spit landed on the head and joined the rest of the wetness from your hand. You swirled your closed palm around the top of his length and he nodded, silently approving of the motion as he rested his head back once more.

The afternoon sun continued to shine its beam on the man shackled beneath you. The uneven breaths rattling in his chest let you know how much he was enjoying your touch. He felt warm and assured in your hands, jumping at various intervals according to the pressure and speed with which you stroked.

But he was too trusting, now that he had what he wanted.

You slowed your pace, willing your hand to grace his length by treating every inch with the utmost attention. His chest began to perspire as you dove your hand down to the base of his cock and back again. Undeniably, it felt empowering to manipulate his pleasure in this way like old times.

A small groan rasped from the back of his throat and as soon as you heard the sound, you pulled on the chain of the nipple clamps, betraying him. The abrupt change in sensation made him grimace and he whimpered, wounded by the sharp pain delivered to his nipples.

Releasing the chain, you returned to his cock, squeezing with a firm grip to encase it in warmth. He huffed a breath of impatience as he shifted his shoulders. You stroked him faster, taking his balls into your free hand and pulling them, fondling him as you knew he preferred.

His jaw fell and he moaned again. The sound prompted you to tug on the chain, causing him to recoil in anger and flinch when you tried to stroke him again.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” you chuckled. “It’s a shame when you think everything is going to work out, and it doesn’t.”

Yoongi sighed and tightened his jaw. He knew you weren’t talking about his dick. You were talking about six months ago.

Renewing your efforts to stroke him and stoke the fire within, you wrapped both of your hands around his length. His face twisted with a mixture of emotions. The soft lips you missed fell open in pleasure, but his eyes screwed shut. It was as if your touch was the furthest thing from what he wanted, and yet the pleasure barreling toward him was unavoidable.

His cock began to pulse in your hand and you felt him growing closer to his end. When it throbbed in a repeated cadence, you released your hands and put them behind your back.

He whined at your neglect, and you offered a smile of feigned concern. “You must think I’m some kind of demented bitch, with me leading you on like this, making you think you’ll come and be happy,” you murmured, your voice laced with revenge. “Why should I let you? Why should I let you have anything?”

You grasped his length with a cruel grip and twisted it until he yelped.

“I kept my promise!” he argued.

_Ah, that_. You didn’t want to hear a word of it, still upset that he used that as justification to exploit Leo’s firewall and make contact like he owned the place. Him speaking of it again, as if he had a place to defend from, only angered you more.

“Which promise is that?” you taunted.

He looked like he was on the verge of crying. “That they would pay for hurting you.”

Your throat tightened at the sight of him, trying to justify his actions. “Did I ask you to do that?”

You lifted his dick until his scrotum was exposed to your view. Your palm hardened with no remorse and you smacked his balls with a sharp pop.

Yoongi’s abdomen tightened and he whimpered at the new threshold of pain you had crossed. He looked like the wind had been knocked out of him, and he began to cough. You refused to let up.

“Answer me!” you barked.

“N-no, you-didn’t-ask-me-for-that.” His words tumbled quickly, for he was fearful you would strike him again.

“No, I didn’t. What did I ask?!” You pulled on his dick possessively, the flesh throbbing in your hand. Yoongi shook his head as if he was trying to coax it to do anything but move and provoke you.

“You asked me to stay,” he said.

“Correct.”

Yoongi sighed in relief as you resumed stroking his cock softly. His face was frantic with apprehension, yet the pulsing veins and flesh in your clutches told you another tale—he was on the verge of climax.

You posed the next question. “But did you stay?”

Speeding up the cadence of your hand, you took care to tend to every inch of his shaft, from the swollen tip of his cockhead, all the way down to the base where his balls ached with soreness and insatiability. He grunted angrily, trembling in his seat as you continued your pleasurable torment.

“Did you stay?!” you pressed, demanding an answer.

“No!” His response was equally regretful and despairing.

“No,” you echoed. “You left.”

With that, you climbed out of his lap and knelt between his thighs. Yoongi rattled his cuffs, trying to shift his hips away from your enraptured gaze. He knew what you meant to do, and moreover, that he wouldn’t be able to restrain how much he loved it. You were sure to hurt him again.

Moistening your lips with a quick sweep of your tongue, you prepared to dish out the final torment to break him. The last look in his eyes gave you a boost of confidence. Yoongi was shaking his head frantically as if he didn’t want what you were about to give him.

His body was trembling when you inched closer to his length. You stuck your tongue out, flattening it teasingly as his dick throbbed, the tip of it bouncing against your taste buds. He hissed, biting back his sounds as he continued to sweat and writhe in his seat. You chuckled at his desperation, batting your eyelashes to make you look as docile and innocent as possible.

Then—as he feared—you released your jaw and took his cock into your mouth, letting the underside of his dick graze your tongue as you pressed your face into his waist. Inch by inch, you sunk down until your nose rubbed into his pubic hairs.

Yoongi’s resolve broke and he began to moan. The mewls drifting off his tongue sounded like a cross between agony and admiration, and as soon as you reached up and hooked your finger against the chain of the nipple clamps, his moans morphed into pleas for mercy.

“Please don’t—ach! _F-fuck_!”

He wailed as you pulled on the chain, simultaneously swallowing around his dick with enough enthusiasm that his thighs shook. You felt his balls draw up against your chin, prompting you to pull back with a pop and release your hold on the chain.

You wiped a dribble of spit from the corner of your lips as Yoongi groaned in relief for a reason most men would be upset over. His abs were contracting as his cock remained erect and noticeably unsated. He was faltering, his mouth open and his tongue loose as he hoped with watery eyes and panting breaths that you were done with him.

Unfortunately, you understood the edge to be his least favorite place, so you resolved to keep him there as long as possible. You resumed sitting on his lap and pushed the sweat-soaked hair from his forehead.

He looked at you with hesitation filling his eyes, only to have his fears confirmed as you pinched the skin of his frenulum and pulled it, tightening the flesh. Yoongi began to weep, overwrought with the multiple orgasm denials. As the tears dribbled down his searing cheeks, you rolled the flesh between your fingers, continuing to overstimulate him.

Every time he moved, you tugged the chain. He continued to cry, his lips quivering as he tried to communicate, but was too unnerved to do so.

“What’s the matter, honey?” you cooed, pressing an affectionate hand against his shoulder as you maintained the rolling of your fingertips.

“Please, I just—”

He couldn’t communicate his feelings anymore, at least, not with words. His cock continued to wag and with each movement, you pinched your fingers and pressed the flesh, bringing him closer to the edge.

You let him continue to cry with no comment on the matter as you swallowed down the unsettling sentiments brewing in the pit of your stomach. After a few more moments of torment, Yoongi dropped his head and spoke forcefully, fighting his tears.

“Onyx.” 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mistress continues her session with Onyx and recalls the harrowing events from sixth months ago.
> 
> Excerpt:
> 
> _“Please—”_
> 
> _“Please, what?!” you cried, jerking your hand back, angered that he dared to get out of the chair in the first place. “How can you ask for my forgiveness? I don’t even know you.”_
> 
> _The words struck his heart and his face twisted in agony. “You’re the only one who does know me, Cat.”_
> 
> _“I hate you!”_
> 
> _“No, you don’t,” he argued with an impassioned plea._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Yoongi x OC, with guest appearance from Leo (VIXX)
> 
> Genre: Smut, Angst
> 
> POV: 2nd Person (from the Mistress' perspective)
> 
> Warning: Sub!Yoongi, Domme!OC, BDSM, femdom, sexual themes, sex work, bondage (handcuffs), nipple clamps, body worship, oral sex, penetrative sex, creampie, violence, assault, death, profanity
> 
> A/N: This will hurt.

“Onyx.”

His head hung low as the damp, ash-colored fringe fell to cover his eyes. The tear-stained cheeks on his face were tight as he clenched his jaw. The man shackled to the wicker chair had been broken and was teetering on the cusp of a breakdown. Once he called his name, his breath became shallow as he waited on you to respond.

_What have I done?_

You wanted to vomit. You wanted to run. The moment he employed his safeword, you realized that you never should have answered his call for you. Your desire to stay home—to forget about him forever—renewed with such vigor, but it was too late. In your own fucked way, you justified saying yes and thereby re-opened a door to a part of yourself that you wish had never been born: the part which attached yourself to him.

You released your hold on his aching, swollen cock and pressed a soft hand to the center of his chest. Removing the clamps was easy, but as the blood rushed back to his nipples, he groaned and felt renewed pain. You hovered your palms over his abused buds and placed them on his skin. He continued to weep and you felt your throat constrict, prickly with the regret of what you had put him through. It was foolish to think that hurting him would undo all the hurt you had endured. Even he had hoped it would fix things, but as he trembled in the chair, hands shackled behind his back, he understood, as you did, that such aspirations were impossible to achieve.

When his breathing had stabilized, you shifted backwards on his thighs and lifted his chin to look into his eyes. As you did so, another tear slid down his cheek.

“Forgive me, Catherine,” he whispered, his voice laced with a brokenness that made your chest swell in remorse.

The medallion hanging around his neck caught your eye as a flicker of light glimmered off the onyx stone resting in the center of it. The shine was so beautiful and painful to behold now, as you remembered, letting the memory fill your heart and hurt you again.

* * *

 

**_Three years earlier._ **

A soft chuckle filled your ears with light tickles. You recalled his voice, laughing at how ridiculous you looked grinning with the box in your hand. You felt like a teenager buying a gift for a first crush, and you couldn’t remember the last time you had so many butterflies in your stomach.

“The cute old lady I bought it from said it’s supposed to offer protection from harm,” you explained, pulling the lid off the small jewelry box to show him the item: an antique silver medallion with an onyx stone in the center. “I couldn’t tell her that I bought it just because I think it’s pretty. It matches your eyes, see?”

His arm wrapped around the small of your back and you scooted closer to him. It was below freezing outside, yet he always made you feel cozy, offering warm touches from his hands as you sat together on the sofa.

A wide smile stretched over his features as he tried to withhold a laugh. He hadn’t seen you fidget this way or talk so quickly before. “You didn’t have to buy me anything,” he assured, stroking your back with his thumb. “I’m content with your company.”

You paused, wilting for a moment. “But I wanted to.” You put the lid back on. “You don’t have to wear it. It’s sill—”

“Hey,” he interrupted, placing his hand over yours which tried to put the box away. “It’s not silly. I like it.”

You never thought validation over something so trivial as a necklace would make you feel so prized. A toasty bloom of affection rekindled in your body and when he pulled you closer, you remembered:

_This is the only place I want to be._

His kiss tasted like spearmint and you let yourself melt into him. The freshly showered scent of his skin filled your lungs and you wrapped your arms around his neck, binding yourself to him. His hands anchored to your back and held you steadfast. No matter how anxious and erratic your heart felt around him, he always had a way to pull you back.

“I love you,” he murmured, his reminder brushing against your lips, welding your devotion.

  


  
**_Present day._**  
  
As you beheld Yoongi’s eyes, you remembered the same vulnerability, the waiting to be validated and assured. You remembered the man who loved you—and vanished. The dark pupils awash with tears were the same which shattered that piece of your heart you locked away for him years ago.

To feel the renewed pang of despair was too much. Your chest tightened as tears began to well in your eyes. It was a mistake coming here. It was a mistake to think you could carry on as usual when so much damage had been done.

You walked to the back of the wicker chair which had been his willing prison. Kneeling down, you unhooked both sets of cuffs. It was harder to do with the tears blurring your vision, but you managed it with no interference from the man sitting there, still trying to sort his emotions.

When you returned to your duffel bag on the floor by the large upholstered chair, you dropped the steel cuffs into the vessel with a clank. As soon as they were stored, you heard the soft shuffles of bare feet against the wooden floor. Your left hand felt the light grasp of his.

“Please—”

“Please, what?!” you cried, jerking your hand back, angered that he dared to get out of the chair in the first place. “How can you ask for my forgiveness? I don’t even know you.”

The words struck his heart and his face twisted in agony. “You’re the only one who _does_ know me, Cat.”

“I hate you!”

“No, you don’t,” he argued with an impassioned plea.

You winced as more tears fell. “No, I don’t,” you confessed, your chest heaving with renewed sobs, “but I wish I did.”

He reached for you again and this time you didn’t refuse him.

Closing the distance after a long absence had been a regular occurrence between you. For years, Yoongi traveled in and out of the country and it wouldn’t be rare for him to be away for several weeks, even months.

But this time, when you felt his embrace, it was like a loved one had returned from the grave. When his soft lips met yours, your knees wobbled under your weight, unable to keep you anchored to the ground. He felt you falter and tightened his hold, wrapping his strong hands around your lower back as he used to every time you were vulnerable—every time you needed him. Feeling him touch you like that again made your chest ignite with a conflagration of emotive reactions. Unable to discern whether the sensations were from grief for all the time you missed, or for relief that all was not lost, you continued to cry, fervently kissing him as you let yourself fall for him again.

In an effort to keep your body stable, he moved to the large upholstered chair and sat down. He ushered you with his hands and murmured, “come here,” with the soft assurance you had sorely missed. When you sat down on his bare lap again, his heated touch returned to secure you, bracing on the sides of your waist.

There was so much you wanted to say.

“How could you leave me, you son of a bitch?!” you demanded, shoving his scarred shoulder. “Look at your shoulder!”

Yoongi groaned, “I had to leave, you know that.” He quickly wiped a hand against his cheek to dispel the tears that had been there.

“You could have stayed with me.”

“They would have kept coming.” His hands pulled your body closer to his. “It wasn’t safe for you. I wasn’t going to risk your life.”

“I kept thinking you were dead, Yoongi! Six months!” Your breasts pressed against his chest as you hugged his neck.

“I know.” He sounded regretful of it. “I couldn’t come back right away and I couldn’t risk contact. I’m sorry.”

“Are you?” you shouted, backing away to stare down his eyes.

“Yes!” he urged, matching your tone, his pupils wide to stress the point. He shook his head, desperately hoping to convince you. “God, I wanted to tell you everything.”

“But you didn’t,” you fired back, your face pained by the betrayal of your trust. “You lied to me about everything!”

“I couldn’t tell you about _that_ ,” he corrected. “But everything else was real. You have to believe me!”

“No, I don’t!”

“You’re so stubborn!” He seized your face in his hands and pulled you in, kissing you with a fervent urgency as if he was trying to convert you into someone more pliant and obedient. You bit his lower lip and felt his fingertips dig into the flesh of your hips. Tearing him apart still seemed like a fitting reward in your mind.

Frantic laughs began to fall from his lips to yours. “Ah, I was so stupid, Cat. I shouldn’t have left.”

_No shit!_

“I know,” you sassed. “You should have stayed with me. I needed you.”

Yoongi slowed his movements, brushing loose strands of hair from your face. You knew your cheeks looked swollen from all the crying, but he didn’t refrain from touching them, gently swiping his thumbs over the salted streaks on your skin.

“I needed you too,” he said, his voice low and vulnerable. “Let me show you how much I missed you, please.”

You nodded your head as Yoongi leaned forward to capture your lips with a touch so sweet and tender you felt lightheaded. Even after the torture you had put him through, he still managed to express his longing with gentle caresses down the slope of your back, a stroke of his fingertip along your spine. Goosebumps surfaced being touched like that again. It had been easy to lie to yourself and say you didn’t need that kind of affection—that you didn’t need him—when he wasn’t there. But now that you were in his lap again, taking in the scent of his cologne and warmth of his embrace, you were drunk on the what-ifs and the maybes. What if you could go back to what you had? Maybe there was still hope.

Yoongi seemed to be of the same mindset, as he braced his hands on your body and pulled you closer, flush against his bare chest. The ends of his fingers unhooked your bra clasp and you pulled the straps down your arms to free your breasts for his wandering eyes.

“I’ve missed you, love,” he whispered, pressing his face into your chest and planting a soft kiss between your breasts. He hovered there a moment, taking in your scent and holding you close like he wanted to make a memory of it.

Your core ached for him with an urgency you couldn’t ignore. You tapped on his shoulder to signal to release you, then climbed off his lap and hooked your fingers inside the waistband of your panties, preparing to remove them.

“Wait,” he said, abandoning his seat to kneel at your feet. “Let me.”

His hands drifted up your legs as his fingertips slipped inside the elastic band. He pulled the fabric down your legs at a crawling pace, enough to make your body thrum. When you stepped out of them and nudged the fabric away with your foot, he released a deep sigh like he was reuniting with a long-lost companion. His eyes never left you as he reached out to usher you back to him.

When you closed the distance to the kneeling man, his tongue stretched from behind his lips to greet you properly at last. The first swipe of his tongue against your damp slit was a stammering and uneven one as he desperately latched onto you, digging his fingers into the flesh of your stocking-clad thighs for fear you would abandon him. His yearning to be close with your most intimate parts made your throat tighten with prickly sensations. Hot, rushed pants of his breath wafted against your folds as he continued to lavish his devotion upon you.

Your legs grew unsteady due to his fervency. You regretted your shoes more than anything. As your trembling hand rested on his shoulder, you braced against him as you kicked off your heels. He chuckled as you tried to anchor your feet to the floor, but as soon as you were stable, he renewed his efforts at lapping your innermost walls, nuzzling your clit with his nose.

“Yoongi,” you moaned, interlacing your fingertips in his hair as your face grew hot and feverish. He groaned as he worshiped you, sucking your sensitive pearl as you tugged on his locks to pull him closer. Every time he flattened his tongue to drive it between your legs, your want swelled to the point of restless aching. You wanted to be home. You needed to be there.

Pulling his face away, you panted, “Don’t make me wait another moment.”

His eyes were hazy with lust as the corners of his mouth turned up in agreement. He crawled back to the red upholstered chair and pulled you into his eager lap. His dick had once again returned to a taut, turgent state of arousal. The sight of it made you salivate, and when he grabbed the flesh of your ass with an impatient grip, you squeezed your eyes and hovered your heat over his swollen head.

You didn’t want to look as desperate as you felt, but the moment you sank down on his cock, you lost all the air in your lungs. Yoongi anchored you to his body and hummed deeply, holding your waist so tightly you anticipated bruising. He clung to you as you undulated your hips, allowing yourself to adjust to his girth.

A groan drifted from the back of his tongue when he had fully bottomed out inside your sanctuary. You stilled your hips and wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him close to you. After six months of separation, the reconnection of your bodies felt nothing short of spiritual. You were restoring one another, bonding with a surge of relief because you were back at the place which you missed most, in each other’s arms.

A fresh lump latched in your throat as the reaffirmation of your connection materialized in the forefront of your mind. It wasn’t a dream. The man beneath you was different compared to the rest. Realizing that fact again both reassured and shook you to your very core.

Moving against him, dragging your wet folds along his length, you communicated how much you missed him. He responded in kind by kneading your breasts with his hands, gripping them firmly as you liked. You wanted him to hit your breast while he was at it, but he looked so docile and relieved to be dipping into your well again that you didn’t have the heart to ask for it.

Yoongi wrapped his lips around your stiff nipple and pulled it into his mouth, sucking in slow, amorous tugs as you rolled your hips like calm ocean waves. He sucked each one as if they carried different textures and flavors. He intended to savor every tang to the last drop, even if the only seasoning you offered was your sweat and your slick. He couldn’t get enough, licking and lapping your buds like it was a taste of home.

When Yoongi buried his head in your chest, you heard him sniffle, then inhale a deep gust as he breathed you in. You slowed your pace, pushing his chin up to look into his eyes. The dark orbs were brimming with emotive struggle, as though he was taking in his last look. A tear fell from his eye and a swallow bobbed in his throat, but he said nothing. You too said nothing, because you didn’t want to breach that unsettling truth which you knew was approaching you both.

_No, not yet._

You rocked harder against him, lifting and dropping your hips as if to urge him to stay with you, to focus. His eyes never wavered as they drank up your body, using him however you wanted. Taking his hands and placing them on the soft, supple flesh of your backside, you brought him closer to the edge. When he leaned his head back and began to groan with pleasure, you raked your nails down the front of his perspiring chest, leaving rosy red streaks in your wake.

His brow furrowed as he gripped you tighter, guiding your hot heat over his cock as it throbbed with impending hunger. Seeing his distressed appearance made you want to wreck him, to break him again, but you couldn’t overpower the twist in your belly, the coil of your own satiation approaching its final crest.

“Ungh, Yoongi,” you moaned, hoping your trembling lips would communicate how close you were.

He narrowed his eyes, peering from behind sweat-soaked fringe. Licking his lips, he prepared his final words, forming the spell of encouragement which he knew would end you, as it had for years.

“I’ve missed the warmth of your cunt, of your cum,” he said in an even tone, letting the sin slip through his teeth. “I hope you drown my lap in it. Come on, love. My cock’s waiting.”

He clung to your waist as he began to thrust hard from beneath you, hitting the sweet spot in your walls you needed him most. Over and over, as your breasts jostled and your jaw dropped in a muted wail, your body signaled that you were venturing past the point of no return.

“Yoongi-i-i-ah, _fuck_!”

Your cries filled the room as Yoongi chanted obscene praises. Each passing phrase made you clench, your walls contracting around his throbbing cock with erratic pulsations. His chest vibrated as his lungs rattled with heaving breaths, each one a determined push to give you your fill until you couldn’t take anymore.

Your orgasm ripped through your body as your blood boiled and surged in your veins. The room blurred as your body whipped like a limp rag doll. Your eyes searched for his, only to find them beady and blown out. His bottom lip was trapped between his teeth, but he loosened his jaw when he saw you, the corners of his mouth twitching as his release tumbled after yours.

Watching him fall apart as you swam in his eyes was the pinnacle of your desire, the sweetest fruit of your efforts. The high encased you both in pleasure, filling your bodies with soothing heat trimmed by electric pulses, the involuntary aftershocks of your release.

Yoongi pulled you close, chest to chest, as his breathing calmed and the temperature of his body returned to normal. You clung to his neck, savoring the small trembles of your bodies. The passion was over and yet, neither of you wanted to let go. His softening cock remained inside of you as you stroked the back of his head, threading your fingertips in his hair.

His touch on your waist was delicate, as though you were precious enough to break. He pressed tender kisses across your chest and up the slope of your neck to your pulse point. His hands held you close as you returned the gentleness, walking your fingertips up to the antique silver medallion hanging from his neck.

“You still wear it,” you commented, idly poking the black onyx stone at its center.

He smiled softly and took your hand, bringing it to his mouth to kiss it. “It’s for protection, right? It’s done a pretty good job so far.”

You didn’t want to think about what he meant by that. It was preferable to remain in the naive headspace where you believed safety was guaranteed, but that wasn’t the circumstance you were in. The truth was far less forgiving, a lesson you both learned the hard way six months ago.

The afterglow of your reconnection was quickly fading. The sobering understanding of your reality was materializing in your consciousness again. You suspected Yoongi could feel it too, with the way his eyes started to rake over you like he was running out of time. He didn’t mean to stay. That much was apparent at least.

When you climbed off his lap, your fogginess began to clear and the drunk feelings you had for each other began to dissipate. You needed to get cleaned up, splash water on your face, but you were too anxious to venture to the ensuite you imagined was adjacent to the master bedroom. Instead, you opted for the small powder room, like a guest about to leave.

After you cleaned up and regained some semblance of yourself, you opened the door to find him standing there, waiting. Clearing your throat, you casted your eyes at the floor and scooted past him to retrieve your clothes. His gaze followed you, but he said nothing. He took his turn freshening up and found you partially dressed in your lingerie, packing your belongings in your large duffel bag.

Yoongi put his clothes back on in silence. When he finished, you were pulling your dress back on. He touched your back with a light brush of his fingertips, offering to zip you up as he had many times. You nodded silently, as you could only swallow down the morose feelings that were starting to surface. He pulled your zipper up and tears filled your eyes again. You blinked hard as your eyelids tried to beat your emotions back into compliance, but all you could think about was how unfair life was as Yoongi rubbed his hand against your lower back, signaling you were fully dressed.

“Can you stay, maybe have dinner with me?” he asked.

His voice sounded unsure, hesitant. Admittedly, you were surprised he asked for such a thing. Your stomach brewed more apprehension.

“I’d like to talk more, about what happened,” Yoongi explained, trying to fill the silence.

_What happened_ _…_

* * *

**_Six months earlier._ **

You remembered the soreness—the swollen, sated flesh between your wobbly legs. It was the weekend, a last-minute trip to the coast at his invitation. It had been almost a month since you last saw Yoongi, and you had been making up for lost time the best way you knew how. As had been the case during so many of these visits, you had been inseparable.

Upon leaving the bathroom after freshening up, you heard metallic taps coming from the balcony. Assuming it was a bird, you glanced over, hoping to catch a glimpse of a local one you don’t often see back in the city.

But it wasn’t a bird. It was a man, dressed in black from head to foot.

Your body went rigid as you scrambled to process what you were seeing through all the logical filters housed in your brain. But all you were left with were fragments:

_There is a strange man on the balcony._

_He_ _’s breaking in._

_Yoongi is passed out on the bed._

You recoiled in horror as you started to scream. Your feet, laden with invisible lead, were unable to muster up the courage to move.

The man outside heard your screams and proceeded to break a pane of glass with his fist, seeking to gain entry as soon as possible. A brief thought zipped through your mind as you recalled the beach house was practically vacant. There was nothing to steal except money. When the glass shards sprinkled on the floor, you considered that you would be raped when he couldn’t get what he wanted. It wouldn’t be the first time.

Your face twisted in horror and your stomach churned with resurgent waves of nausea. When the man breached the house, you were still screaming. Your ears were abuzz, approaching deafness, and you didn’t know where Yoongi was.

The intruder was angered by your erratic noise, lunging in your direction with a plan to silence you. When he got close enough, you felt a hard blow to your stomach, knocking the wind out of your lungs. As you violently coughed, he struck you in the ribs. The nausea resurfaced with a vengeance as you felt one crack. You remembered the last time your ribs had been broken and with that horrifying recollection, you curled your shaken form, hunching over to try to block his fists and protect yourself.

But he anticipated your moves too quickly, zeroing in on your weakened body and backing you into a corner. His large hands wrapped around your throat and started to squeeze with so much force, your eyes flooded with tears.

He had been too quick, too agile, and easily overpowered you.

He was too strong, too focused on his intent to subdue you.

Your temples were pounding. Where was Yoongi?

You couldn’t breathe.

You were going to die.

Suddenly, the man’s shoulder jerked twice and he winced, releasing his hands from around your throat. He grabbed his shoulder and turned toward the balcony, only to jerk back again as you saw a bullet puncture his chest.

Your ears were ringing from the shock. You couldn’t hear the shots, but you saw where they came from.

Yoongi.

 _Yoongi_.

Brandishing a small-caliber firearm in his steady hand, Yoongi stood with a horrifying countenance, fueled by rage. He dashed for the intruder, tackling him to the ground.

“Get back,” he barked at you, before dealing a hard blow against the man’s face.

As the intruder’s black shirt became soaked with blood, he started to laugh, taunting Yoongi in a language you had never heard before.

When Yoongi angrily returned the conversation in the same unknown tongue, your consciousness began to assemble the pieces together:

The man in black wasn’t a burglar—he was an assassin.

He knew Yoongi, at least enough to taunt and anger him.

Yoongi was armed.

As you processed the new information, Yoongi’s tone grew louder, his accent thicker. It sounded like he was demanding an answer from the man bleeding out on the floor, but the only responses he got were more blood-curdling cackles and mocking insults. The assassin’s eyes kept darting in your direction as he rambled.

Yoongi stood to his feet and put his arm out in front of you, keeping his eyes focused on the man in the floor. Aiming his gun at the man’s chest, he spoke with a force that made the hairs on your neck stand to attention.

“Turn away, Catherine.”

“Wha—”

“Turn away, goddammit!”

His voice was terrifying and you crumbled, shielding your eyes with shaky hands as Yoongi fired two more rounds in the man’s chest.

“Shit,” he whispered, bringing a bloodied hand up to his brow. His chest was heaving and you had never beheld that side of him before; he looked as stunned to see the intruder as you had been.

He switched the safety mechanism back on his firearm and tucked it behind his back. His eyes were beady, like a caged animal, but his body cycled through the motions he had been trained to carry out in an almost ritualistic fashion. He knelt down and checked the pulse of the man on the floor, his expression calculative. Yoongi sighed deeply and turned in your direction, scanning your body with his darting eyes.

“Are you alright? Did he hit you? Hurt you?”

You couldn’t begin to process such a question when you had a much larger one screaming in your head.

“W-what language was that?!”

“Bulgarian,” he answered, shaking his head. “I can’t explain right now, but we have to get out of here. There could be more.”

“More what? More guys like that?” Your voice cracked at the question and you wanted to cry. You suspected you would be able to shed a few tears if it weren’t for the copious amounts of adrenaline coursing through your veins. Gripping your rib, you implored for an answer with uncertain eyes.

Yoongi grunted with an impatient huff, pulling his phone out. He began to rummage indiscriminately through the intruder’s pockets.

“Seven-four-three-six-two-seven-nine,” he recited into the receiver. “I need an extraction team. My location’s been compromised.”

 _No, no, no_ …, you chanted in your thoughts as you watched the man pace the floor in rushed steps.

“Mm, might have been blown. I don’t know yet.”

He paused, then added, “One. No ID. Bulg—scratch that. No, I don’t know. I was preoccupied. The building isn’t secure. No, I’m _in_ the safe house, dumbass. That’s my point. Just send an extraction team over—and a cleaner.” His face exhibited the same brand of frustration typically reserved for telemarketers. The even tone in his voice indicated it was not the first time he had carried on such a conversation.

His brow furrowed as he listened to the voice on the other line, then his eyes focused on you. “Two, me and one female, early thirties, dark hair. A local. She’s been holding her side and she’s rattled. We’ll need medical post-extraction.”

The voice on the phone asked something and although you couldn’t hear it, whatever they said amused Yoongi and he began to chuckle under his breath.

“A hundred percent sure. If it _was_ her, I’d be dead.”

* * *

 

**_Present day._ **

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” you answered, your voice low and careful. “I shouldn’t have come here.”

Yoongi’s face bore confusion. “Why do you say that?”

“When will I see you again?” you redirected, wanting to avoid answering his question.

His shoulders dropped with a forlorn exhalation. “You know I don’t know the answer to that.”

The response rekindled a flicker of resentment in your chest—the same one you had been housing since the incident in the safe house six months ago.

“Then there’s no point in doing this,” you said, grabbing your bag and approaching the front door. Your feet were itching to get out. Leo was still close enough to pick you up with a short wait.  It was a small enough window to avoid breaking your heart again.

“Wait,” Yoongi interrupted, grabbing your arm to stop you. Your chest swelled in jubilation and you detested how every touch from him made you react that way.

“I’ve been reassigned—or I’m about to be. That’s why I’m here.”

Your insides tossed and you pressed your lips together, hoping to process fear or joy, if only you could figure out what you were feeling.

“Will you be here?” you probed, pointing your finger to the floor.

“In the country, yes, but I don’t know where yet. It’s a long assignment, longer than six months.”

“Are you changing your hair again?” As soon as the question came out of your mouth, you felt stupid and superficial for bringing it up. It didn’t matter—you knew that—but you did feel unsettled seeing him in a new shade again. You didn’t think much of it before when you believed he was a business man with commitment issues. Now, you understood why he could never keep a style. The prospect of changing it made your blood run cold.

“Probably.”

“Are you going to have a cover?”

“I always have a cover,” he reminded you. “It’s part of the job, for my protection.”

The word “protection” forced another lump in your throat. His ability to protect himself hadn’t held up so well last time. Since then, you spent months wondering if the reason why the assassin found his safe house was because Yoongi had gotten sloppy— _distracted_ —by your involvement with him.

“Are you going to have a wife?”

Yoongi’s face stiffened as you continued to ramble. “Or someone else for whatever cover you’re supposed to have, you know. I want to know. I deserve to know.”

“I can't talk to you about that,” he replied with a soft tone.

“Then what I said still stands, and there’s no point in doing this again. I can’t.”

As you walked toward the door, he called your name with a low whine that almost made you feel sorry for him.

Almost.

Dropping your bag to the ground, you turned to face him. “Why did you come back here, Yoongi? Why didn’t you just stay away from me?”

His face sunk into a sullen expression. “I needed to see you—”

“No, in Monaco. You should have left me alone to drink in peace at the bar!”

“That’s not fair, Cat,” he argued. “You can’t say that like I’m some kind of monster.”

“You want to talk about _fair_?” you snapped, your voice rising. “It’s not fair to me to have you blow the whistle and have me just show up whenever it’s convenient for you, like I’m your damn dog. What if I was with another client—like a real one? Would you have canceled their appointment?”

“Of course not.”

“How would I believe that, when today you exploited my investigator’s firewall for the purpose of getting to me. That was intrusive. And let’s not forget the elephant in the room—you lying to me for years about your job. _Years_. I keep as many secrets as you, and you built our relationship on fabrications and sold it to me. I feel _groomed_ , okay! How can I ever trust you again?”

Yoongi’s voice began to waver. “I would never interfere with your business or Leo’s in that way, in any way. I wasn’t _spying_ on you. I was getting your new number because I told you to scrap your old ones, remember? How was I supposed to find the one person I care about after telling her to erase her contacts?”

He angrily carded his fingers through his hair like he could no longer reach you with his words. “I would never hurt you. I’m not like that.”

“You _killed_ someone, Yoongi, right in front of me like it was just another day at work. And it fucking was.”

“His death was necessary! He was there to kill me, remember? He just saw you first and I was sleeping too soundly to hear you right away—which I regret more than anything. If I had known I was being followed, I never would have flown you out and risked your life. I—”

“How can you stand there and act like that didn’t ruin everything we had?” you interrupted, waving your arm like you were trying to make sense of his fucked-up logic. “In one afternoon, everything I thought I knew about you was shattered to pieces. And you think it’s okay to re-enter my life like this now because you’ve bounced back from it?!

“What about me, huh?” you continued, swallowing down your impending tears. “I’m not a spy. I don’t have training and shit to fall back on. You gave me _nothing_ to hang on to. You just left like always. I don’t even know what you did all those times you were gone. Where did you go when you told me you were away on business? Were you safe? Were you killing more people?”

“Yes, okay!” he fired back. “But my employment has nothing to do with us, Cat.”

“There is no us because of you and your job!”

Your face was on fire and your body was trembling in anger. “I was going to retire. Don’t you get it? I was going to leave it all behind for you, so we could live that quiet dream we always talked about when we were together. Do you know how stupid that makes me feel, to hope for nothing?”

Yoongi paused as he stared into your eyes. “It’s not stupid.”

“It is!” you lamented. “The man I want is the one person I can’t have.”

The man across the room sighed deeply, unsure how to reply. His eyes looked aggrieved, but he couldn’t form the words you wanted to hear. You knew he couldn’t share the details of his job, and you felt robbed by it—betrayed by it. After years of being strung along and made to believe you’d someday have a future with him, you couldn’t see past the deception. Yoongi, on the other hand, was trained to attach and detach just ask quickly. You resented that he handled the separation better than you had. He handled pain, loneliness, and loss better than anyone you had ever encountered.

All you could think about was how as soon as you walk out that door, you may never see him again.

You felt weak and powerless sharing the same space as him. It was imperative that you clear your head and try to forgive yourself for coming to see him in the first place.

“I’ve got to go,” you informed him.

Yoongi blanched, biting his lip. He didn’t want you to go, or at least it seemed that way. A part of you hoped for some kind of grand gesture where he would promise to quit his job and make everything go back to the way it was.

“If that’s what you want, I’ll respect you.”

 _It_ _’s not what I want_ , you thought, as you felt the stab of being free to walk away. He had no intention of chasing after you.

You opened the side pocket of your bag to pull out your phone and text Leo. After tapping out your instructions to be picked up, you returned the device and stood there, suspended in time.

When you picked the duffel bag up by the handles, you considered the hard truth: the only constant in your life was the fucking bag, and the contents inside of it. It was sobering, relegating yourself back to a transactional entertainer instead of a person worthy of love. You supposed that was something else you’d need to forgive yourself for as well.

“I’m sorry this happened. All of it.”

Yoongi’s words, simple as they were, did offer a touch of comfort. He reached in his coat pocket and pulled out his wallet. When the wallet opened, you felt sick.

“Don’t insult me, Yoongi.”

The shake in your voice rattled him too. He cleared his throat to try to quell the scratchy lumps, then swallowed, struggling to force the words out.

“Please,” he urged, his voice cracking, “this is the only way I’ve been able to care for you these past few years. Please take it.”

He extended the cash in his hand and as soon as your fingertip brushed the corner of the paper bills, you felt cheapened by them. You wanted to throw them in his face, but the remorse in his eyes stopped you. As angry as you still were, you pitied how broken and lost he was.

Yoongi looked more visibly relaxed when you took the money. You tucked it in your bag and immediately thought of the women’s clinic you had been supporting for years. They could use the money. It didn’t feel right using it on yourself as you did back when you thought you knew where it came from.

You needed to leave and you knew it, yet you felt compelled to ask the question.

“Is that scar from a knife wound?”

“Yes,” he confirmed in a low tone. “But I’m recovering well and resting on my break, the little bit I have left.”

“How much is left?”

“Two days, then I go undercover.”

Your voice grew small and uncertain. “And you don’t know when you’re coming back?”

“I wish I did,” Yoongi admitted, “then I could tell you up front and I wouldn’t have to see you like this. I don’t want you to leave when I know you’re upset.”

“If I stay, it will only get worse.”

“Do you still love me?”

 _Yes_ , you confessed to yourself as your throat burned.

“We can’t talk like that. It hurts too much,” you answered.

“I need to know,” he implored. “Please, I won’t ask anything else of you.”

The swelling in your throat moved your eyes to tears. Blinking hard, your vision blurred as you cast your eyes to the ceiling. You couldn’t allow yourself to cry again and feel even more pathetic and powerless.

You heard Yoongi walk toward you and when you summoned the courage to look at him again, you saw his brow cinch as he closed the distance, intent on comforting you one last time.

When he slipped his hands around your lower back, a tear dribbled down your cheek. You gave in, for him and for yourself, as your arms encircled his neck and pulled him close. You let yourself believe in him as the soft petals of his lips moved against yours, drinking you in, reassuring you with fleeting touches.

“I’m sorry I’ve put you through this,” he reiterated, wiping away your tear with his thumb. “I’m going to find a way to make it right for us. I promise.”

“Come back alive. Do that for us first.”

Your whispers compelled him to nod his head and kiss you again. As you savored a final taste of his lips, your fingertips traced over the onyx stone nestled in his pendant. When your touch brushed his skin, his eyes bored into yours and you wished, more than anything, to get lost in them as you had in the past. Yoongi took his time taking in each pupil, studying them as though he were making a memory of you to cling to. It hurt to know the reason for the long look, but you were doing the same—taking him in, unwilling and unable to say goodbye.

* * *

 

When you closed the door of the car, you could feel Leo’s eyes examining you, evaluating the next steps. Your shoulders hung heavily as you waited on him to say something to you.

“Are you okay?”

The question was so simple, yet the concern in his voice had your eyes brimming with tears again. After the ordeal you had experienced, you imagined you looked like you had been at a funeral. How could you begin to answer that question?

“Can you just take me home?” Your voice sounded like a little girl who needed ice cream after getting her tonsils removed, and you trusted Leo wouldn’t hold it against you. The air in the car was thick with words left unsaid, but you at least felt assured that the concern painted across his features was genuine. You were appreciative of that now, more than ever.

You pulled your phone out of your duffel bag and opened your voice notes application and took a deep breath.

“Onyx—”

But you were unable to complete the note, as you choked on a resurgent sob and burst into tears. Leo pressed his foot harder on the gas pedal, rushing the car forward, offering the only solution he knew to comfort you. You buried your face in your hands as you fell to pieces, letting your heart shatter like shards of glass once more as you left the man you loved behind. 


End file.
